Palindrome
by CognacGirl-CG
Summary: SydSark Short. An attempt at making a fic read similar to a palindrome.


Palindrome

**pal·in·drome** n. A word, phrase, verse, or sentence that reads the same backward or forward.

She waits until she reaches her front door to exhale deeply and harness her weapon. Home, she thinks, as the faint, familiar scent of jasmine blossom begins to relax her after a long day.

A subtle wrongness in the air of her apartment has her re-readying her weapon the instant she steps inside.

-----

Even from the high back chair in her living room where he's been sitting for three hours, he sees the exact moment she realizes she's not alone.

Tension rockets through her like instantaneous rigor mortis – tightening her back, shoulders, and arms in a stark, synchronous motion. She's looking right at him in the darkness as her flattened palm moves to enclose them in.

His fingers reflexively tighten around his Sig as his hand keeps an unwavering aim on the door; the pad of his index finger teasingly caresses the faint curve of the trigger. The steady thrum of his heartbeat mutes the succinct click of the door closing behind her.

He smiles. She's a killer, but not one to do so without provocation. In all probability he won't even need the gun.

It's rather amusing considering the type of provocation he has in mind has nothing to do with manmade weapons. He tells himself this, but still feels an instant jolt preempting a good skirmish.

_What do you want?_

_-------_

_You_.

Months have gone by and she has changed the tone in which she says just the one word. The look in her eye is more baffled than irate. He can't help but smile at her.

_Do you even think before you react?_

He sees it as clear as day. The blast of light that shot crumbles of cement and sent particles of debris, and what he swears was burnt popcorn, floating all around them as they ran to seek cover.

The adrenaline rush still simmers through his body and he turns back to his laptop without answering.

_What have you done?_

I've started it, he thinks.

-----

Two men, two hostages, two weapons of mass destruction.

All that is left…

He used to think two years was a long time. Nearly finished.

The first two go down with splatters of red, gray and chips of white.

She keeps at his side, predicting his every move, covering him on every assault.

They move on.

The middle two are alone looking red, black and puffy.

The middle two, injured, are on their own.

They move on.

He's her equal, speaking to her with every movement, sharing every obstacle.

The last two will go out with a flourish of red, orange and puffs of gray.

So close to the end. She once thought two years was a long time.

All that was left…

Two weapons of mass destruction, two hostages, two men.

------

I've ended it, she thinks.

_What have you done? _

Her body is still charged, alive, and she says nothing as she turns toward their vehicle.

The explosion rocks the tunnel they'd planned out as shelter, bits of cement, glass, wood and funny enough, cinders of what look and smell like Styrofoam peanuts rain down outside. They both see it clear as day.

_Were you aware of what this would cost us? _

She can't help but smile at him. His eyes show disbelief mixed with a hint of humor. Months have passed and the new inflection in his voice just saying one word makes all the difference.

_You_.

-----

_What do you want? _

She asks herself and feels a quick pang of something at voicing the fight within.

Funny that just the mention of the word 'fight' in regards to him has nothing to do with manmade weapons.

Chances are she didn't even need to go this far. He's a man, but doesn't need a lewd act to explain why she's there. She smiles.

The nervous fluttering of her heart resonates in her ears, making what would have been a distinct, sharp noise of the shutting door – _click_ – blend eerily with the rapid _ker-thump, ker-thump, ker-thump_. Her fingers unconsciously flex on the satiny fold of her robe, then pull back to expose the smoothness of one taut thigh; the tips of her fingers lazily skirt up to the uppermost part of the inside of her thigh and still.

He's looking right at her, bathed in the pale yellowish light from the candles she lit around the bed, as he reopens the door to hang the appropriate sign outside on the knob. Awareness marks his body in sequence – the imperceptible elongation of his neck, a stronger set to his shoulders, capable hands cradling his Sig like a skilled father would an infant.

Even from the angle she's positioned herself in, laying on her side in the middle of his bed, she sees precisely when he first senses he's not alone.

-----

A slight change in the air of his suite has him reaching for his weapon the instant he steps inside.

Home, he thinks, as the surprise scent of first danger then jasmine that is so distinctly her now wafts towards him and soothes his being after a taxing night. He waits until he sees her partially nude form decorating the center of his bed before placing his gun on the table and letting out a stale, slightly quavering breath.


End file.
